Demons In Human Skin
by CosmicSakura18
Summary: My first fanfiction. Based on a roleplay done with a friend. Sorry in characters are a bit OOC. Involves the paring America x Fem!Russia/Nyo!Russia, in a Vampire AU with Anya as a scary Vampire and Alfred as her next meal. Things progress through the chapters into unexpected events. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

The cold, bitter air stung with each inhale, and the air was greeted by a small cloud of warmth with each exhale. Nearby streets were congested with bumper-to-bumper traffic, and the sidewalks were noisy with the thundering repetition of outsoles against cracked concrete. Bright orange streaks darted across the rosy-pink sky, while the red sun retreated under the horizon, dragging along the dark indigo blankets of the looming twilight. The city underwent such an active transition into the nighttime as the hoards of daytime workers retreated back to their homes to rest, and then repeat work again the next day. Although night is revered as a peaceful, quiet time, that is everything but the truth in The City That Never Sleeps.

Alfred was indifferent towards his new job at the local bar. It's not something he endured three years of college to get his degree for, but in this economy, there were really no other available options. He was not the type that really drank, or was interested in drinking other than on special occasions or when dared at parties, (learning how to turn down a dare was a difficult and unfruitful process for him). Of course as a bartender, he got to do and see a lot of very interesting thing he wouldn't get to normally see, especially since he had to remain sober while working. It still wasn't very nice having to sleep through the day and wake up exhausted because the sun was already about to set, and then walk in the opposite direction through bustling crowds just to be surrounded by drama, and the various pungent smells of alcohol with added excess testosterone. He honestly thought nothing would be worse than the highschool locker-room after another loss for the school football team. At least after his shift was over he was able to enjoy a quiet walk back home, and not worry about an over-crowded subway train. Living alone was an adventure in many different ways, and he wasn't about to give it up and waste his youth.

The type of 'ambiance' heard while dining in a restaurant was comparable to what was heard in a pub, except for the random fluctuations in sounds as the sports game on the TVs heated up, fights broke out, people got too drunk to function, or someone lost a small fortune over a game of pool. Things like this he couldn't control, but he could control the smile he wore on his face, and the satisfaction of the customers that asked for a drink or needed someone to talk to. Conversations with the bartender were sacred, and extremely confidential. Alfred never judged a soul that walked in, and it wasn't because it was against his code, he just wore his heart on his sleeve and was always willing to please. If he hated his job, it would make working at it far more difficult to bear. Usually the people that walked into his bar were distraught business workers, stressed college students, people suffering from bad break-ups, or just people looking to have fun or settle scores over betting on a game or a pool match. It was uncanny how well these things were portrayed in movies, except for one thing.

She dressed like a million bucks, hell, her entire outfit was probably worth more than the entire block. This woman should be going to one of those overpriced clubs where you just need to look the part to get in and all of the drinks were served in tiny glasses and imported from random European countries to make people feel like they were sitting in the laps of luxury. Instead, she was here in this dirty, practically-falling-apart bar. She didn't look real, she was as pale as a ghost, and hair that was platinum blonde, sheen enough to make Alfred believe it probably had hairs made of solid platinum. She moved silently, despite how tall heels normally sounded on the creaky, water-damaged, wooden floorboards. As she approached her usual spot at the island table to claim the exact same bar-stool that always remained unoccupied, even when the place exceeded maximum capacity, Alfred couldn't help but watch from the corner of his eye as he polished a glass for her. She never had to buy a drink herself, someone always bought one for her, knowing exactly what she wanted. She never spoke a word to Alfred, just sitting there as her 'date' chatted her up. What was even weirder was that she always walked in with a different date, but her drink always remained the same. A full glass of plain Vodka, nothing else. No matter how much she drank she never walked out of the bar even a little tipsy. What did he expect though? This woman was Russian. Her accent was thick, cold just like her appearance. She was taller, and probably much stronger than him. Ever since he started working here this woman of ice and riches always came in, but this time she didn't have a date, and wore bright red lipstick to grab his attention, and actually acknowledged him for once.

Alfred was very quick with preparing drinks, especially when he was paid and even tipped in advance. The glass hardly made a sound as it landed on the solid surface, and he didn't leave a drop as he poured the clear drink in a disgustingly copious amount. Before he could turn back around to consider his conversation with one of his old classmates, the woman spoke up, and not to the person next to her, or her nonexistent date, but to him. "Alfred? I don't mean to trouble you, but I didn't ask for anything." He was completely thrown off from her comment, but was attentive, and removed her drink from the table. "...Sorry about that, someone already paid for your drink and I just thought you already knew. So, what made you want to actually chat up the bartender tonight?" He let out a small chuckle, but he knew he probably came off as rude to this foreign woman, regretting his choice of words. She could practically smell the nervousness on him. "I'm sorry about that, I didn't want to trouble you. You always looked so busy," she replied sweetly. He took a deep breath to try and calm himself from the building anxiety. "It's fine sweetheart, I'm always open to a conversation, so just don't be afraid to start one. It helps pass the time in this boring place," he laughed, but not for long seeing as she gave him a puzzled look that pierced through her dark sunglasses. Who wore sunglasses at night? Maybe being one-step from being an albino still had consequences, but the lights in the pub weren't that bright. Often, they were too dim people bumped into each other or objects. "Mind if I ask your name? I always see you come in here so it wouldn't hurt to know." he asked carefully, not wanting to sound like he intended to stalk her later. It took her a few moments, but she eventually replied,

"Anya."


	2. Chapter 2

Out of all of the bitter, vile scents, his radiated stronger throughout the crowded room. It was something that baffled her, and if it weren't for her age and pedigree any other monster would've already gone at him, not sparing a single drop of the sweet drug he possessed. Ever since she had started paying her nightly visits, he was the only thing that kept her attention. _How was he still alive?_ Not being protected by any hunters nearby, or even the knowledge of what was out there.

Alfred was oblivious to the thoughts that played on in her mind, having taken her dead silence as a sign to leave her alone for a bit. Not a single weapon, neck completely exposed, the thin, cotton collar of his black work-shirt providing no protection at all. Humans were always oblivious in her eyes. Closed-minded, afraid of what they didn't even attempt to understand. Often people avoided her for this reason. A proud woman of status, tall, and drop-dead gorgeous. Anya was someone to be feared and respected, a lioness amongst a heard of helpless lambs. Her beauty was a trait of a very rare, original bloodline, something the new-bloods wandering around nowadays dreamed of possessing. At least fewer and fewer intruders were wandering into this area that she had claimed, which could explain why he had still remained untouched prey.

The temperature had dropped significantly as the workers at the bar helped to get the drunkards on their way, and by on their way just out of sight and separate from each other so no fights could start. Alfred was busy cleaning; sweeping, polishing tables and glasses, and picking up several personal items left behind to give to the manager who, (hopefully), would place the items in the lost-and-found. Honestly cleaning up was his favorite part of this job from the odd things he found, and the fact that it was actually quiet for once. He had decided to let Anya stay a bit longer, wanting to be courteous to the only one who was sober, but by the time he had finished his work, he found himself humming familiar broken tunes to an empty chair. The floor hadn't even creaked, and there was not a single penny left behind for a tip. A solemn sigh escaped his lips, feeling upset he couldn't serve to her standards. _How do you please someone like that who probably makes a fifty times more than your own income? _

Smoke from the nearby hookah lounge seemed to be carried by the freezing air. Stepping outside was like getting a smack in the face with how cold it was. It was unfortunate the only thing he had to keep him warm was his old thrift-store vintage bomber jacket that had seen better days. Being made of real leather, it provided a decent amount of protection, but he still had a few blocks to go before he was back in his crummy apartment. After fumbling with the keys to find the correct one, locking the gated doors to the bar, he was on his way down the sidewalk he always trekked to get to the underground metro. The scents in this area were always bitter, and Anya hardly ever ventured here, but it suddenly drew all of her attention when she discovered his presence; a freesia.

The walk to the train was always quiet, and tonight he was surprised with the lack of lights and cars. Owners were probably getting ready to close for the holidays, despite it only being mid-November. The moon was already claiming the sky for much longer, allowing her soft gaze to lull people much sooner to sleep. Anya, on the other hand, had more time to be active and enjoy herself. Alfred continued his usual pace, adjusting his glasses every so often so they wouldn't slip off. He was approaching the local clinic, the stairway down into the earth already visible to him and the only thing he could really see at this moment with his glasses fogging up from his breath. What he didn't see, was the figure hunched over in the darkness, enthralled in his pure scent.

He was strong, a lot stronger than most humans, but the mortification and shock remained the same. The only thing occupying his heavily-blurred vision now was the small, narrow strip of night sky that ran between the two tall, dark, unlit buildings. Everything was numb, his body no longer able to process the completely foreign sensation of sheer agony and hazy pleasure blending together at once. Coordination was a thing of the past, muscles no longer responding, even with the copious adrenaline racing through him. Before he could even begin to fragment together just one piece of the situation puzzle, the dirty gravel became his new bed as consciousness receded him.

It was better than she could have imagined. Alfred's blood was liquid gold, and the rich taste brought her to a near-climatic state. It was unfortunate her abilities were so honed he had no prior warning, but just the sight of that neck brought her all the way down to her lowest point; a bloodlust-fueled frenzy. The solid brick did nothing to cushion him as he was pinned harshly against the wall of the clinic, now trapped in this web she had made within the filthy alleys. The amount of restraint it took to pull away was far beyond even a noble vampire's ability. Alfred trembled, his glasses having been knocked clean off from the force of the grab, now shattered against the pavement, and completely disoriented and mind shut off as she effortlessly tore his work shirt to expose the soft, sun-kissed flesh. It had been centuries since Anya felt this enticed. Her long, angled fangs were already poised above that sweet artery in his neck, and the fact that he just continued to weakly struggle as his heart raced did not help his situation at all. Once they plunged in, her body pressed further against his, a sign telling any other vampires to back off. Anya's gulps were slow, but large. The only sound that seemed to resonate in his mind, and would be in reoccurring flashbacks.

Blood dripped down her chin and neck, dripping onto the ground below as she failed to maintain her neatness and overall composure. She had already surpassed the normal feeding amount, and the only thing that cued her to stop was the pained groan from him, and the extreme limpness in his muscles. He was dying. Anya was no killer, at least, not in this time period. Not only was his once untouched neck now deeply punctured and abused, the fluffy collar of her bright pink coat was sullied in his blood. It was exhilarating, but wrong. He was young, completely innocent, and if she just abandoned him like all other prey his short life would come to an end, now that he was susceptible to even more attacks in this state, and currently bleeding out. Anya kneeled over him, using her thick scarf to apply pressure to the wound as she pondered on how she would make sure he could stay alive.

White. Too bright. The lights made him cringe, and even cause his pounding migraine to worsen. "You're awake," a familiar voice purred. The woman from the bar.


	3. Chapter 3

The bright red hue of her nurse scrubs contrasted heavily with the dull white drywall of the clinic, like a splash of vibrant color against a blank canvas. Her soft, long silky hair draped elegantly over her shoulders as she leaned forward to check the thick bandages wrapped neatly around his neck. Everything was a blur, so blurry he just barely made out who she was, and even then he was still unsure. His glasses were gone...what even happened? Alfred needed to get back home, none of this was right. He did not remember a thing from the night before after he stepped out of the bar, and his memory wasn't _that_ bad. "You lost a lot of blood," the woman stated nonchalantly in her thick accent. This was definitely the woman from the bar, and now she was busy removing the dirty bandages from his neck to replace them with clean ones she had already prepared. Alfred winced at the stinging, and realized the only thing he could do right now was wheeze. "We have you on some strong painkillers, the wound was very deep. You should be ready to go back by tomorrow evening," she continued rambling on, but everything just sounded distant from the pounding in his head and his ears ringing. Anya's touch was cold, but gentle. Her small fingers were diligent and careful as she fastened the new bandages with a clip, having even put new gauze in case the wound started to bleed again. "Eleven stitches...I didn't think you would recover so quickly," she mumbled silently to herself in an almost suspicious manner. After checking on his IV, making sure the blood and water was still flowing, she left without another word, the room feeling even colder without her. Alfred didn't even bother staying awake much longer, body beyond sore and weak. He was just a bruised-up ragdoll at this point.

_Impossible._ There's no way he could have survived an attack that severe, no way any human could survive an attack that severe. Anya had practically torn into him like a piece of meat, draining him until his pulse was almost nonexistent. It would be a miracle if he could even walk again the next day. The guilt had bared down on her as she had carried him into the clinic and spent the rest of the evening looking at what she had done to this...child. He was hardly an adult and she had almost stolen his life away, but now she was just shocked by his survival, just barely hanging onto a single thread. She was a _monster._ A savage, and working as a nurse would never be able to hide that, but sulking and wallowing was something she never spent more than a few minutes at a time on. Even with her endless lifespan, time was short, and people could easily fade away if she lost her focus for just a few seconds. Right now, she needed to make sure Alfred would stay alive, even after he left the clinic. Humans were so weak and helpless, but she wasn't as cruel as the rest of her kind. Once back in reality, she realized she was slumped back against the wall, having silently made her way back into his room where he lay on the stretcher that had become a makeshift bed, motionless, and chest just barely moving with his inhales and exhales. She wouldn't become attached to him, she promised herself that after first discovering him. Vampires getting attached to humans was something that was practically taboo, seeing as it meant certain death for both parties.

"Papa! Papa, help!" a small, horrified voice shrieked. "Help...help! Please!" the voice only got louder. The room was dark, musky, and freezing. "You son of a bitch, put him down!" another voice exclaimed, but this one was older, and had an accent he recognized completely. Alfred opened his eyes only for them to be met with off-white icy ones, pupils completely dilated, and locked on him. He was struggling, gasping for air, his tiny legs flailing and kicking as he dug his fingers into the large hand grasped tightly around his small neck. The monster had long, pointed teeth that extended past its lower lip, and was bearing a shit-eating grin as it glowered hungrily at Alfred. But the sheer zeal slowly faded and the expression morphed into agony, and Alfred felt himself slipping out of the beasts grip, landing on the rough carpet that was unfamiliar to him. He gasped and coughed for air, lungs and throat burning. When he managed to open his eyes again, the monster lay dead, but not so much as a monster anymore. A young man, probably not even in his twenties yet, with delicate, pale skin, and thick, red hair. He had been slain with a long, silver stake, now lodged deep in his chest cavity, the sharp end pointed towards little Alfred, and black goop oozed out of the wound, soaking the man's clothes, and seeping into the navy carpet. "Mon Dieu, are you alright my child?" the familiar figure asked, concerned. His dad, and his brother, Matthew, standing in the doorway, still in his pajamas, paler than the corpse on the carpet that had now begun to deteriorate into ash. His father had walked up to Alfred, stepping over the body and crouching down, his arms and night-shirt sullied in that same black liquid. "Lets get you patched up, and back to bed, mon petit." he cooed, and Alfred felt himself fall backwards into an abyss as the blood covered arms extended to grab him.

He woke up in a panic, shooting upward, and panting harshly, heart racing a million-miles an hour, and he could feel the new layer of sweat that was now clinging to his skin. A doctor who was lingering in the hall had raced in, hearing his strained screaming while he had dreamed. "You're alright son, just a bad dream," the doctor made a valiant attempt to calm him, but his panicking worsened as he spotted Anya staring at him, feeling her cold gaze on him. "Sedative, now!" the doctor barked, Alfred clearly in the middle of an extreme attack, unable to breathe properly. He felt a strap being coaxed around his head, and a clear plastic mask being placed over his nose and mouth, pumping cool, yet completely dry air. Another needle was slipped into his arm, the one the IV wasn't already hooked up to, and he slowly began to relax as the liquid was carefully injected into him. "Relax, you're gonna be okay." the voice cooed softly. Her.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, voice cracking from sheer concern...and guilt.


	4. Chapter 4

Alfred had to spend an extra night at the clinic, despite his protests against it. The doctor assured him he would be well enough to leave after he did some extra tests and made sure he was completely stable. His recovery was fast, but after that night that left even Anya on edge, it was imperative to ensure Alfred's health. Anya had never felt herself feeling so worried; he was fine, she kept trying to tell herself. Unfortunately for him though, his expenses would not be fine on his small paycheck. She had to do something to compensate for the critical state she had put him in, and it's not like money had been an issue with her, for the past couple centuries at least. Alfred did not recall his nightmare, or any of the events leading up to him being confined in this tiny room with nurses constantly babying him. He just wanted to get back to his job, he never enjoyed being in such a weak state.

For the rest of his stay Anya remained out of sight, and now out of mind. It was like she didn't exist at this point, until she entered his room with his belongings, his work shirt having been sewn up by yours truly, and everything cleaned, free of any dirt or blood. Alfred squinted at her when she stepped in; a bright red splotch. "It looks like you get to go home today," she started. "I took care of your belongings, and managed to get your prescription to replace the lenses in your glasses." Anya was very blunt, and hardly had any emotion in her voice, wanting to be curt with getting him out. This place drove her mad sometimes too with how boring it was. The clinic was probably one of the most underfunded buildings in this side of town, so they really didn't have money for patient luxuries like TVs or those nice adjustable beds. She was pretty sure nothing had been upgraded other than the uniforms since the seventies. Alfred had just woken up, too tired to really want to converse back with her. She was already busy with unhooking him from machines, and helping him out of bed. His glasses were carefully slipped back on, gracing him with the gift of sight again, allowing for his growing headache to begin to slowly dissipate. The sun probably had only set half an hour ago, making it the equivalent of waking up at five in the morning to him. "I'll leave you to get dressed. You can check yourself out and get any supplies you need for your wound from the front desk, alright?" This time she didn't sound so cold. Still groggy, Alfred nodded in response, and Anya just smiled softly before quickly turning to leave.

At the checkout desk, a young intern appeared to be over-worked, typing away at the keyboard. She didn't even notice him until she heard him zipping up his jacket. It only took a few minutes to get him checked out, and he was actually surprised to hear that his expenses were paid in full. He knew his healthcare didn't cover that...and the intern couldn't find out how the payment was made, but Alfred just decided to take it and find out when he actually had the money to pay this anonymous person back. One quick trip to the pharmacy was required from the list the doctor had given him, but other than that he was on his way back to work, wanting to finish off the shift so he could at least make up some of the time that he had missed. Despite the letter given to him by the clinic, he still wanted to get back to work. He felt better than ever, he just couldn't cough or really raise his voice, but that didn't mean he couldn't work as a busboy to trade places with the other worker for the evening. The manager wouldn't notice, as long as things were getting done. Unfortunately for him though, Anya took comfort in seeing him, and just lingered outside of the bar, watching him carefully. She had grown attached, despite her wishes.

The air outside was brutally cold, so much so that it hurt to breathe. All that seemed to echo in this barren cave was the maddening wails and pleas of nearby victims. They were all young girls, but some were a few years older. It seemed the copious fur wrappings weren't enough to keep everyone out of the brutal winter's wrath, and a few of the girls were practically turning into ice from how severe their condition was. Tears seemed to be in abundance, but now it was so cold frozen tear ducts failed to allow flow. One of the elder girls had just recently woken up, and unlike the majority she had been bound and gagged with a sturdier cloth. Loud stomps had begun to echo from an unknown source, and for some, it was absolute dread. The pleas and sobs grew louder, and although these young women would normally be commended for their bravery, now was not the time for that. The shouting made being barely conscious much more difficult for the young lady who had only been down here for a few hours, causing the pounding in her head to evolve into a shooting pain. The shrieking stopped almost instantly, and the three rancorous youths were no longer a part of the huddle, instead they had become a part of the empty bodies just barely hidden amongst the shadows. The smell of death was so pungent, it made everyone sick.

"...Stay still. If you ever get stolen, stay still and keep your mouth shut. I won't be able to protect you from everything in this world, even though you are much older and stronger than the others like you." The grip on her shoulders was firm and strong, but a loving gaze met a younger, innocent one. "Just know I will always love you, and pray for your well being." The voice was soft and gentle, but seemed to fade out as everything began to be dragged back into present time. Anya did not belong here, and she never imagined herself unknowing of what was to happen to her. Her birthday was not too far from now, and it was coincidence that right after her father had warned her of the recent kidnappings in her village that were all of young girls. She never imagined that she would be one of them, considering she was much older and still unmarried. Her only expectation was that she helped her family with the farm and continued aiding the ill and wounded. Now she was badly wounded herself, suffering from a gash in her head and a broken leg, waiting to join the pile of frozen corpses. The voices grew less and less, until the already unbearable cold grew even colder. Normally she would've put up a fight regardless of her condition, but she had no idea who she was up against, and utter mortification had a firm grip on her. The ground below her began to move, but it only seemed that way until she realized she was being dragged, and then lifted up by her tattered coat. Small, shaky breaths resonated in the cave, and a long, gnarly claw gently brushed dirty strands of hair away before tearing through the layers of cloth the reveal her neck. She expected the attacker not to dawdle fulfilling his intents with her, but he seemed to be inspecting her, and what he did next made her stomach churn; a wet kiss was placed on her neck, and she was pressed against the cave wall, but by the other body meeting hers in a suggestive matter. Anya was completely vulnerable to this attacker, and she could feel hot, bitter tears well as she prayed desperately to not be violated like this.

She did not recall blacking out, in fact, all of her memories were a scattered mess, having no consecutive connections at all. She was no longer cold, but she was not warm either. Her surroundings eluded her, but as she began to recall the events prior to her state of unconsciousness her body was shaken with an intense pain that practically tore through her, forcing her to let out an agonized shriek. Everything hurt beyond comprehension, she felt like she was being ripped apart and put back together. After what seemed like an eternity, she could finally see that she was alone in the cave, and the top part of her coat and the layers below were sullied in dried blood, and along her neck were trails of a black liquid that she had been forced to drink in her sleep. It was poisoned, she had been poisoned, but normally poison keeps you asleep instead of waking you up. It was a different kind of poison, and she could feel it slowly, but violently killing her, but she did not die. Anya had remained in the cave that taunted her with the once revolting smells of blood now appealing to her for what felt like many moons, but she did not once fade away.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Another voice snapped her back awake, a voice she yearned to hear so full of life again, but instead it was full of concern. "You seem tense, and I just thought I'd get you one on the house," Alfred continued. It was none of his business what she was thinking, but it seemed very troubling, and he always had the urge to want to help. Anya felt embarrassed for the first time in a while once she realized she had just stared at him in utter silence for several minutes now, and had practically no choice but to accept his offer with a small nod. When he moved to the cabinets below to grab a clean glass for her, she noticed the large, thick bandages secured on one side of his neck, the collar of his usual work shirt doing absolutely nothing to hide them.


End file.
